


Prophetic Dreams

by Llama1412



Series: Families of Choice [9]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Broken Bones, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Families of Choice, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Injury Recovery, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Post-Season/Series 01, and you have a dream vision of your ex getting tortured, fun times, when you just adopted ur daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Geralt has just found his child of surprise when they both have the same dream. In the dream, Jaskier is being hurt because of them.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Ermion | Mousesack, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Families of Choice [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660492
Comments: 24
Kudos: 362





	1. The Dream

Geralt’s dreams were predictable. Still awful and unpleasant, but there was a routine quality to them. Typically, Geralt avoided actual sleep as long as physically possible – he’d stretched the definition of how long a body could survive on meditation alone.

Traveling alone or with Jaskier, that was permissible. But now, camped out in Yurga’s cottage with the Girl in the Woods, he could not risk being at less than his best. His Destiny had been running scared, and with battles being fought nearby, it was only a matter of time before Geralt would need to defend Ciri. For her, he had to be at his best. And that meant sleep.

He’d always had a complicated relationship with sleep. It took him hours to actually fall asleep, and he couldn’t even spend that time meditating – he had to “let his mind wander to sleep”. In other words, hours of staring at the wooden ceiling, the bite wound on his leg aching as his body worked to heal. 

Then, when he finally did fall asleep, it rarely lasted more than a few hours, and he woke up with screams choked in his throat, the sour smell of fear and sweat in his nostrils and his heart beating fast enough to be mistaken for a human. It was always unpleasant, and it took him far longer than he liked to settle after dreaming. In the end, he would need meditation to settle his mind anyway.

When this dream started without the usual hazy fade from sleepless boredom to mist covered streets, blood spattered everywhere, he knew something was strange. His dreams started in Blaviken. The stone hallway he found himself in was definitely not Blaviken.

Wishing he had his sword, he tried to get a sense of where he was. It tugged at something in his memory, but his sleeping mind couldn’t place it. The distant voices in his ear suddenly resolved into his name, _Geralt of Rivia_ , and he followed the sound to a dungeon. A very familiar dungeon.

Unlike when he’d been locked in the Cintran dungeon, there was now an abundance of black armored soldiers (and not the ones he’d killed during his escape). In particular, the one in charge, the knight, appeared to be interrogating a prisoner.

Nilfgaard doesn’t take prisoners.

The knight made a sharp movement and his prisoner’s scream was all too familiar to Geralt.

_Jaskier_.

The knights and guards didn’t seem to be aware of Geralt’s presence. He could move closer unimpeded, but he could not do anything to stop them. He may as well have been a ghost by Jaskier’s side.

“I will ask again. Where is the Witcher? Where will he take the girl?”

Jaskier, that stupidly insanely brave bard, grinned through the blood on his teeth. “ _Toss a coin to your Witcher~_ ” he sang until he broke off in a scream. The knight broke his finger. Another one, apparently.

Geralt’s nails were digging into his palm with how hard he was clenching his fists, but he knew Jaskier’s scream would join his nightmares after this. And he couldn’t do anything! The bard’s fingers, his livelihood were a bloody mess on the table. Fuck, he needed to save Jaskier, but he _couldn’t touch anyone!_

The “interrogation” continued on without regard to the way Geralt screamed at them, tore at them with hands that felt as if they were grasping mist. If this was what his dreams were turning into now, he swore he’d never sleep again. Jaskier’s scream ended in a sob and Geralt was helpless, standing close enough to hold, but completely unable to touch. His mouth opened to scream.

_“JASKIER!”_

Geralt jolted out of the nightmare. It took a moment of fast breathing before his eyes focused enough to see Ciri sitting upright in the bed the merchant couple had generously loaned them. She was curled tightly, shaking arms clutching her knees, and he belatedly realized that it hadn’t been his voice alone that had woken him. He rose from his pallet on the floor next to her and placed a hand tentatively on her shoulder. When she didn’t shake him off, he moved closer to encircle her in warm arms. 

“Ciri, did you dream of Jaskier?”

The princess – so strong and so fierce even after all she’d been through – shuddered against him. “Do you know him? He – Nilfgaard had him. They were hurting him, because of me.”

Geralt grit his teeth. “Not just you. Jaskier traveled with me for many years, he’s known throughout the continent for his White Wolf ballads.” A sneer pulled at his lips, but he fought it down, focusing on Ciri. “I didn’t know he knew you.”

Ciri’s voice was muffled, her face pressed into her arms. “He knew my grandmother. He's basically my uncle. Eist said– “ Her voice wobbled, but she continued. “He said my mother is the one who gave him that name. Grandmother hated it, she insisted on calling him Julian.” The chuckle was thick with emotion, but it was real. 

Geralt rubbed her arms, her back pressed warm against his chest. “I had the same dream. But that’s impossible.”

“What does it mean? What if it’s real, what if he’s being hurt?” Ciri’s head jerked up, narrowly missing a collision with Geralt’s nose. “We can’t risk it! And it felt – it felt kind of like when I dreamed of Yennefer. That dream was mostly colors and sounds, but you said Yennefer was connected to your destiny, so it makes sense we might have some sort of connection. And if Jaskier is your friend too, then we have to be connected to him!”

Geralt frowned, instinctively drawing away He caught himself, and leaned back into Ciri. “Jaskier isn’t tied to me by destiny. Actually, the last we spoke,” he cleared his throat, “um, we didn’t part...on good terms.” _I messed up_ , he couldn’t force himself to say. _He might never want to see me again._ He was glad Ciri couldn’t look at his face right now – he had no idea what emotion it might be showing.

Ciri shook her head. “I think you’re taking destiny too literally. I’ve known Jaskier my entire life, he’s practically family. And you know him too? Then we _both_ dream of him getting – of him captured by Nilfgaard, who have been searching for me! And I have no idea what this thing, this power inside me is, but who’s to say it isn’t the reason we had the dream?”

Geralt squeezed her shoulders, calming her. “You’re right, we can’t risk ignoring it if there’s even the slightest possibility that it was real. But we need more information before we can do anything. We have no idea how much Nilfgaard has fortified their forces, they’re probably guarding him closely, and we _know_ they’re hunting you. My first priority is keeping you safe, Ciri.”

Ciri hummed, frowning in thought. “What do we need to know? How can we find out?”

Geralt inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly. “You’re not going to go back to sleep tonight, are you?”

Ciri shook her head fiercely, pushing back into his chest. “What if he’s being hurt right now?” She whispered.

Geralt leaned his forehead against the back of Ciri’s head, closing his eyes. “Okay. First, we need to know how strong their defenses are. Everything else depends on that. Nilfgaard’s forces are numerous and they will attack us on sight.”


	2. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt goes to Cintra to rescue Jaskier and finds a surprise along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to post all of these as separate works, and then I realized that made no sense. So, this first arc is all going to be in 1 work, and it should be about 4 chapters.

Cintra had fallen. The air was heavy with the unmistakable tang of iron even several days later, and the sweet smell of rotting death was cloying in the back of his throat. No one with sense would return to Cintra. And yet, here Geralt was.

At least Ciri was as far as he could leave her. Which was not as far as he would have preferred her be, but the girl was as stubborn as her grandmother. So, not as far from the city as he would’ve liked, but still farther than Ciri preferred, the Cintran Princess was tasked with protecting Roach and the mount they had borrowed from Yurga’s family. If all went to plan, she would never be in much danger and they’d be able to return the horse after making use of it. But there was no way Geralt could break Jaskier out of Nilfgaard’s grasp and get far enough away with Ciri _without_ another horse. (Still, the merchant’s family had been more than kind to them. Geralt had left them some coin, just in case they couldn’t return the horse. Just in case Geralt doesn’t return and they need to take care of Ciri. Not that he will let that happen, if he has any option.)

Of course, the first step in all of this was for Geralt to break Jaskier out.

His brief stay as Calanthe’s _guest_ meant he was familiar with the dungeon, and its escape route. But escaping during a massacre and escaping when Nilfgaard held the city under its power were two different things, and the latter was sure to be much more difficult. Still, if Destiny had given them the dream of Jaskier, maybe it was on their side for a change, and this wouldn’t be a disaster. 

Quietly as he could, he moved down the corridor, silently removing guards in his path by sneaking up behind them and snapping their necks. It was not his preferred way of dealing with humans, but any out-of-commission guard was one less to come after them when they escaped. 

Finally, he came across an occupied cell and took care of the guards outside. Through the barred door, he could see 2 figures, one splayed on a makeshift prison cot, and one kneeling over the other, though they were looking up at Geralt now. With a shock, Geralt recognized the worn and dirty face as Mousesack.

“Geralt! Geralt of Rivia!” Mousesack’s voice was hoarse, but Geralt could hear it clearly. “But if you’re here, Princess Cirilla –”

“Ciri is safe,” Geralt said immediately. He searched the guard’s bodies until he found the key to the cell. “How did you end up here, Mousesack? Have you seen –” His voice died in his throat as Mousesack moved towards him and Geralt suddenly had a clear view of the man on the cot. 

Jaskier lay on his side, his hands resting in front of his face. Several fingers on each hand were wrapped with fresh bandages; Mousesack’s work, he realized. Jaskier’s face was flushed and his hair matted to his forehead with sweat. “Feverish?” Geralt asked softly, immediately moving into the cell and kneeling at Jaskier’s side. He put his hand on Jaskier’s forehead and called his name softly.

“Yes,” Mousesack said. “The cell is dimeritium. I’ve straightened the bones and wrapped them, but that’s all I can do. He needs proper medical care.”

Geralt nodded, and tried to wake Jaskier again.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open, but when his gaze met Geralt’s, it was unfocused and drifted off to look at a point over Geralt’s shoulder. “G’ralt?” He murmured. “Never been so glad to see you. Though, ‘m still pissed at you.” His eyes drifted closed, but they shot open and tried to meet Geralt’s. “Ciri? Is she –?”

“She’s safe. Waiting for me to get you out of here. Both of you,” he turned to Mousesack, “though we didn’t know you were here. Help me get Jaskier up.”

“They took his lute, as well. I believe they kept our effects near here, if you can look?” Mousesack suggested, carefully manipulating Jaskier into an upright position. 

Geralt nodded, and found a pile with 2 bags, assorted travel supplies, and Jaskier’s prized lute sitting on top. There wasn’t time to sort through all the supplies, but the lute was the most important thing, anyway. Geralt slipped the strap over his shoulder and returned to where Mousesack was supporting all of Jaskier’s weight.

Geralt bit his lip, but turned to lead them out of the dungeon. He wished he could support Jaskier's weight and give his friend some sense of comfort during this, but it was for the best to keep his arms free. He needed to be able to wield his sword without hindrance.

They ran into miraculously few issues escaping the city, and by the time they were about to rejoin Ciri, Geralt was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely rescuing two prisoners from Nilfgaard couldn’t be this easy, right? Even with Destiny on their side?

He never expected the other shoe to be Ciri, though. The moment they came into view, Ciri’s eyes went wide and she grabbed the silver sword Geralt had left with Roach. She should have looked ridiculous, wielding a sword far too large and heavy for her size, but Ciri’s scowl was effectively intimidating.

“Get away from him!” She shouted, pointing the sword at Mousesack. “Geralt, it’s a trick! There was a doppler, it took Mousesack’s form, it tried to take me to Nilfgaard! It said it killed Mousesack!”

Geralt’s steel sword was tight in his grasp, but he raised his other arm, palm out in an appeasing gesture. “Let’s just stay calm. Even if he is a doppler, he must be different from the one you met. And dopplers are not typically violent. Let’s just talk.”

Mousesack had stopped in his tracks, as soon as Ciri pointed the sword at him. His face was in shadows, but Geralt could smell faint traces of salty tears on the wind. Mousesack moved to lean Jaskier against a tree, speaking as he moved, “I’m so sorry, Princess Cirilla. I was captured by Nilfgaard the night of the attack. The doppler they used – he didn’t kill me, though he came close.” Once Jaskier was settled against the tree (eyes open, but entirely out of it), Mousesack stepped back and spread his arms. “I’m not sure what I can do to convince you, Princess. But I promise, I am Mousesack. I can’t imagine what the doppler might have – I’m so sorry.”

Ciri bit her lip, but the sword didn’t lower. “Silver hurt him.”

Geralt reached for his coin purse. “Catch,” he said, tossing a silver piece to Mousesack. The druid did actually fumble catching it, but he was able to bend down and hold it without pain. “Ciri, are you satisfied?”

The girl’s hands started to shake, and she dropped the sword. “Oh, Mousesack, I’m so sorry!” She threw herself forward to hug the man who had looked after her since she had taken her first breath. Mousesack startled, clearly not expecting it, but he wrapped his arms around her and patted her head gently.

“Do not apologize for surviving, Princess. I regret what that has come to mean, but I am so glad you are safe.” Mousesack squeezed his arms and then pulled back. “Jaskier is injured, he needs a healer as soon as possible. We should move.”

Geralt agreed. “We won’t be able to ride for long two to a horse, but we can put some distance behind us. Ciri, if we get Jaskier on the saddle, can you hold him up? I’ll lead the horse, but you’ll need to keep him from falling off – he’s pretty out of it.”

Ciri looked at Jaskier consideringly, then nodded. “Yeah, I’ve always been stronger than him. Do you want me to get on first?”

“No, you’ll need to sit behind him. Mousesack, help me keep him steady.” Together, they lifted Jaskier onto the piebald mare the merchant family loaned them. Jaskier barely responded to being touched, which was concerning. Even once they were away from Nilfgaard, where were they going to find a healer?

He mounted Roach, Mousesack behind him, and led Ciri and Jaskier’s horse back towards the Riverdell. It would be a long ride through the forest, but by dawn, they should be well away from any Nilfgaardian patrols.

As he rode, Geralt contemplated what to do next. He could think of one option for a healer, though he wasn’t actually sure if she had been real or not. He knew he’d been delirious, but the fact was, the swallow potion he’d consumed and poured on the necrophage bite shouldn’t have been enough to heal him as much as it did, if he’d imagined her. And why would he have? It had been years since he had let himself think of her. And now, having had those memories forced into the forefront of his thoughts, he can’t even decide if he wanted her to be real or not.

If he did imagine her, that meant he’d have to find another healer for Jaskier, and find a new way to stuff all those memories deep down inside him. 

But if she was real, if Visenna had really found him, then what? If she had healed Geralt, she should be able to heal Jaskier. He should ask if the merchant knew how to contact her. If it wasn’t a dream, she had said the merchant had sent word. If they could do that again, maybe it would reach her.

But what if she actually came? What if the mother who had abandoned him all those years ago came to help them? He could barely breathe around the knot in his chest at the thought of confronting her again. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling – hope? Anger? Fear? People believed Witchers couldn’t feel any of those. How was he supposed to know what he felt if he wasn’t supposed to feel at all?

–– 

By the time they reached the cabin belonging to the merchant family, Jaskier’s condition had worsened. They’d had to tie him to the saddle just to keep him on the horse once the rest of them dismounted to let the steeds rest. Mousesack was weak, after a week in a dimeritium cell, so Geralt had him mount Roach when he could no longer walk. Ciri’s energy was flagging, and while she’s started out walking close by Jaskier’s side, she eventually ended up slumped on Geralt’s back, head resting on his shoulder as she dozed off.

It was a long trip back, but Yurga, the merchant, and his wife, Zola, came out to meet them in the early dawn light. Zola immediately approached Geralt to help Ciri down, and the young girl let her, though she immediately followed Geralt to Jaskier’s side.

“We need a healer,” Geralt told Yurga. “His fingers were broken and fever has set in.”

The merchant murmured a prayer and helped Geralt move Jaskier into the spare bed they’d originally offered Ciri. Zola led Ciri and Mousesack after them, and the exhausted druid immediately dropped into a chair. 

“I can lay out bedding on the floor,” Zola offered, “I’m sorry we don’t have more –”

Ciri cut her off. “Please, we need a healer for him. He’s my family!”

Zola’s smile was sad. “Of course, we can put out word, but with the battle so recent, I don’t know who might respond.”

Geralt gripped Yurga’s shoulder. “When you brought me here, did you contact a healer? I was out of it, but I remember a healer, and I don’t think it was a dream.”

“Ah, you were quite delirious, Butcher, I don’t know –”

Geralt shook his head and tightened his grip. “The potion I took shouldn’t have been enough to save me without a healer. Do not lie to me,” he growled.

Yurga shook slightly. “I’m sorry, Butcher. She asked me not to mention she’d been there, that her life depended on it! I couldn’t repay her kindness with harm.”

“Can you contact her again? Can you bring her back?” Geralt removed his hand before he could squeeze tighter than human bone could withstand. “He needs a healer. Please.”

“I – I can try. I don’t know that she’ll respond, but she’s helped us before.” The merchant left them to send a message. Geralt made Jaskier as comfortable as he could on the bed, before turning to Ciri. Zola had laid out bedding for Mousesack, and was gathering sheets for the rest of them.

“Who is this healer?” Ciri asked him.

Geralt grit his teeth, uncertain how to respond.

Mousesack refused to settle into his bedding until the Princess was comfortable, and spoke up from his chair. “The druids’ circle in Mayena likely sends healers out this way on occasion.”

Zola returned with bedding for Ciri. “You know them?” She beckoned Ciri towards her, to tuck her in. Geralt saw Ciri tense for a moment, before consciously deciding to let the woman tenderly tuck her into bed. “You should get some rest, dear. Even if they respond right away, it will likely be a few hours before a healer can arrive. And you must take care of yourself as well.”

Mousesack nodded, and moved into his own bed for the night. “She’s right, Pr – ahem. She’s right. You need rest.” 

Ciri’s eyes flashed to Mousesack at the stumble on her name, but she looked back to Geralt without saying anything. Geralt forced his mouth into a slight smile. “Rest. I will keep watch, over all of you.”

Ciri pouted, but Zola brushed her hair from her forehead and took her leave of them. Geralt and Mousesack didn’t speak again until Ciri’s breathing had settled into sleep.

“You know of the druids here?” Geralt asked softly. He once had too, he thought - he was fairly certain that was where he'd called home before his mother had- well, before.

“Mm,” Mousesack hummed. His eyes kept drifting shut, though he tried to focus on Geralt. “I stayed with them, many years ago, in my youth, when I was looking for you, actually. I wonder if I will recognize our healer.”

  
“Hmm,” Geralt said. _I wonder, too_ , he did not say. Instead, he let Mousesack fall asleep, and traded out the damp cloth they’d placed on Jaskier’s forehead. He settled Jaskier’s lute nearby, so it would be in his sight line when the bard awoke. Then, Geralt settled down into a light meditation to wait. He hoped the healer, whether it was Visenna or another, arrived soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mousesack and Geralt have actually known each other since they were children. For more on his story, check out [The Wolf's First Nature](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341599/chapters/58694788)


	3. Visenna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visenna arrives to heal Jaskier, and Geralt must deal with questions about who this healer is.

After several hours of meditation, Geralt startled to awareness at the sound of a knock on the front door. Immediately, he rose to his feet, hand on his sword, and reached the door just as Yurga opened it. The woman with long red hair on the other side was the same woman from his dream, the same woman from his past. Geralt tried to swallow against the knot suddenly building in his throat.

“Geralt?” She startled the moment she saw him. “When you called, I thought –” though she spoke to Yurga, her eyes never left Geralt.

“Please,” the word had escaped him before he realized he was going to speak. “My friend was tortured by Nilfgaard. His fingers have been broken and he’s feverish and delirious.”

Vissena – just thinking her name hurt, but it was better than the other word he’d called her – gaped at him for a moment, but quickly recovered and nodded. “Show me to him.”

Geralt waved for her to procede him – he would not be leaving his back open, not when he was the last defense the people he cared about had. He may have to trust her to heal them – she had always said healing was her profession, that she could not leave someone who needed her. Not that it seemed to matter when Geralt had needed her as a child. He would have to keep close watch over her. After all, he was responsible for a scared child, an injured bard, and a magic-drained druid, and none of them would be able to defend themselves for long if something happened to Geralt.

Yurga took initiative, and led them through to where Jaskier lay. Ciri had jerked upright as soon as Geralt had left the room, and she stood now with her back against the wall next to Jaskier’s bed, guarding him. Geralt felt a softness in his chest at the observation. 

Mousesack did not stir as Visenna looked around the room and then strode past him to Jaskier. He had been exhausted yesterday - Geralt would make sure Visenna took a look at him too. For now, she bent over Jaskier, taking stock of his condition. “You are fortunate,” she spoke to Geralt, but she now she avoided looking at him. “I have the herbs he needs with me. I shall need hot water,” she told Yurga, who scrambled out to get it.

Once she was finished speaking, a heavy silence fell over the group, punctuated only by Visenna bustling around to prepare herbs for Jaskier. Ciri watched Visenna narrowly, before speaking up. “You know Geralt,” she said softly.

Visenna jerked slightly in surprise, and Geralt glared at her harder. Was it uncomfortable, to know that the son she abandoned was staring her down? Was it putting her on edge?

_Good_ , he thought viciously before he answered the child who was apparently his now. “I was injured in the escape from Nilfgaard, a necrophage bite.” He crossed his arms and his voice went bitter. “She healed it, drugged me so she could pretend she’d never been there, and told Yurga her life would be in danger if he mentioned her presence. Or was there something else you were going to say, Visenna?”

Ciri’s brows were raised high now, but Visenna did not rise to the challenge. “I cannot give you the answers you want, Geralt. I will heal your friend. Please do not ask for more.”

“He needs healing too,” Geralt jerked his head at Mousesack, which was useless since his mother refused to look at him. “You might know him, if you’ve been hiding with the Druid Circle of Mayena. Apparently Mousesack was visited years ago.”

This time, Visenna’s gaze jumped to him in surprise, but she abruptly pulled it away. Ciri clearly noticed, and frowned at them both. “Ermion we called him. Yes, I knew him quite well once. Many, many years ago.” She moved over to Mousesack and hovered her hand above him, tracing down the length of his body. “He is drained, his connection to magic weakened, but as long as he spends time in nature, he will recover.”

Mousesack’s eyes flickered open as Visenna passed her hand above his head once more. “Visenna?” his voice was hoarse with sleep, but the surprise was clear. “Oh, I wondered if it might be you, but I haven’t heard from you in years. I wasn’t sure if you lived still.” 

She smiled softly. “People linked by destiny will always find each other. I should have known you would be linked together as well.”

Ciri gasped. “That’s what you said when you found me,” she pointed at Geralt. “Who _are_ you?” She demanded, moving into a fighting stance even though Geralt was _mostly_ sure she didn’t have a weapon. If she did, he figured she deserved to have it on hand as a reward for hiding it so effectively.

Yurga returned then with the hot water, and Visenna busied herself preparing herbs for Jaskier. Yurga looked around the group – from Geralt glaring holes into Visenna, to her carefully adverted gaze, to Mousesack sitting on the floor looking lost, to Ciri nearly pouting in frustration. “If you have everything you need, I believe I shall retire.” He wisely retreated far, far away from the tense room.

As soon as he’d left, Ciri demanded answers again. “Who are you? How do you know Geralt? Why would we be linked to you by destiny?”

Visenna opened her mouth to answer, and Geralt let her, curious as to what she would say. Nothing, as it turned out. She closed her mouth and shook her head. “Have your friend drink this,” she offered a small clay cup to Ciri and pointed at Jaskier. “Once he has finished all of it, I will need a closer look at his hands.”

Ciri took the cup, but from the way her breath huffed, Geralt could tell she was frustrated and reaching a breaking point. If Jaskier didn’t need her, she probably would have exploded already. Geralt closed his eyes and breathed in sharply, forcing the words out even though they felt like knives in his throat. “She’s my mother.”

Both Ciri and Mousesack audibly gasped, and Ciri’s hand wobbled where she was pouring the tea down Jaskier’s throat. Geralt stepped forward and took over from her, using his other hand to prop Jaskier up. This was good actually, he realized. He needed to do something with his hands, and this was _helping,_ even if it meant he had to face Visenna head on.

“Your _mother_!? Mousesack’s voice was shrill, and Ciri’s almost seemed to ring with power. 

Visenna’s head jerked to stare at Ciri warily. “You are his Destiny?” she asked in surprise. “You resonate with power, child. Have care – many will try to take that power for themselves.” She turned away while Ciri was struck speechless, and approached Jaskier and lay a bushel of herbs in his lap were he was propped up by Geralt. “Were his bones aligned before they were wrapped?” She asked as she pressed the palm of one hand to the back of the other and held them both with fingers splayed above Jaskier.

“Yes,” Mousesack confirmed. 

“Then I will need silence for a moment.” She didn't speak, but the herbs in Jaskier’s lap began to brown and crumble. Geralt had never truly understood how the equivalent exchange philosophy of magic through Chaos worked. The magic Witchers used was much different, more basic, drawing from the magic within themselves rather than the chaos around them. When he’d been young, he’d asked his mother a thousand questions to try to understand, but no explanation had ever left him satisfied. That was part of why he'd always gotten along with Mousesack. The druid shared Geralt's need to _know._

Geralt didn’t understand how Chaos could evaluate the value of one lifeform to use its essence as payment for the magic. Nothing was free, after all. He thought back to the lopsided pastries his Ma used to bake, and the way by the time she served them, they looked nothing like the deserts she pulled from the oven. Instead, they were now lavish delicacies decorated with fresh fruit and presented picture-perfect on the plate. Geralt had never wanted for food before she had abandoned him.

As the herbs crumbled to dust in Jaskier’s lap, his eyes fluttered open and Visenna sagged back, spent. “Jaskier?” Geralt called softly. 

Jaskier’s face scrunched up as he slowly came to awareness, his head leaning against Geralt’s shoulder and his weight entirely being held up by the Witcher. The smell of burnt herbs permeated from the little pieces all over the bed now. “Geralt?” he asked softly. “Am I dreaming?”

Geralt could feel his lips tugging into a smile and deliberately set his face to neutral. He would not give Visenna an opening, whatever her game might be. “You’re not. I found you in Cintra, do you remember? Nilfgaard had you.”

Jaskier raised his hands before him. “There’s no pain,” he marveled. He flexed his fingers, and began unwrapping the bandages. “How?”

Ciri was the one to answer. “Apparently Geralt’s mother is a druid healer,” she said bluntly.

Jaskier jerked around to look at her, and Geralt adjusted to keep his weight supported. “Ci – ah – Cub, you’re safe! You’re here! Oh, thank Melitele!”

Ciri pushed her way past Visenna to Jaskier’s bedside and hugged him tightly. “I’m so sorry you were hurt.”

“Oh darling, it’s not your fault.” He stroked her hair lightly. “Hold on, did you say Geralt’s – your _mother_?” His voice screeched at a high register Geralt hadn’t previously been aware he could reach. He nearly broke his nose on Geralt’s chin when he turned to stare at the Witcher. “What the fuck?”

Geralt sighed. “She was the only healer available.”

“Yeah, that’s not really the shocking thing here.” Jaskier frowned. “Didn’t you once say –” He cut himself off, but Geralt knew what he was going to say.

There had been one night, years back, where they’d been passing the wine bottle back in forth in front of the fire, and Geralt had talked about what being a Witcher meant. How he had been left on Vesemir’s doorstep, how most of the boys in his group died during the trials, how he’d been selected for extra mutations and how much they’d hurt. How even among Witchers, he’d always been an oddity – too mutated for their tastes, but far too much for anyone else either. 

He remember the way Jaskier had set the bottle aside, moved to straddle Geralt’s lap, and cupped his face in both his hands, forcing Geralt to look into his eyes. _“You aren’t too much for me,”_ He’d said. Geralt shivered at the memory, and a glance at Jaskier showed he was thinking the same thing. Only now, he pulled away from Geralt, and it hurt like a red hot lance to the chest.

Geralt licked his lips and forced himself to speak again. Now he was the one who couldn’t look at Visenna. “Her name is Visenna. She healed me before and responded when we called for a healer for you.” His jaw was clenched so tight it was beginning to give him a headache, and his nails were digging into his palms where he had his fists clenched.

Jaskier looked him over assessingly. Then he turned to Visenna and spoke. “How does a parent leave their child to undergo deadly mutations?” He demanded in a surprisingly level voice.

Visenna flinched back. “I have told Geralt, I cannot give you the answers you seek. Please, you are healed. Let me be on my way, I shall not trouble you again.”

Geralt wasn’t even sure why that hurt, but it did. What else had he expected? It wasn’t even that he wanted her to stay, but her eagerness to leave him again cut deep.

Jaskier frowned at her. “No, I don’t suppose you will.”

Apparently that was all the dismissal she required. Visenna rose to her feet, nodded at a gaping Mousesack, and then left. The rest of them sat for a moment in stunned silence before Ciri broke out, “What the fuck!?” She turned to Geralt and climbed over Jaskier to hug him. Jaskier wheezed when Ciri accidentally kneed him in the gut, but he smiled at them. “You deserve better family than that, Geralt. But you have me now. And you’re stuck with me. Destiny said so.”

Huffing a surprised laugh, Geralt hugged Ciri back. He closed his eyes on Jaskier’s smile and pretended it would last, pretended that as soon as Jaskier forgot his pity, he wouldn’t remember that he hated Geralt for what he had done.

When Ciri pulled back, Mousesack apparently sensed the change in the room (or perhaps he knew? Jaskier and Mousesack had been imprisoned together for some time) and began to usher Ciri out of the room. “I think we should let them speak alone, Princess.”

Ciri crossed her arms, watching Jaskier and Geralt carefully. Something must have clicked for her, because realization spread across her face as she opened her mouth to say, “oh!” She turned an accusing look on Jaskier, “Geralt is the one who broke your heart and you never told me about him!?”

“Wait, what?” Geralt blurted.

“That isn’t –” Jaskier tried to protest.

Mousesack cut them all off by taking Ciri’s shoulders and guiding her out of the room. “Why don’t I answer your questions, Princess? We can leave these two to _talk._ ” 

He gave them each a pointed glare, but Geralt hardly noticed. His full attention was focused on Jaskier, who was avoiding meeting his eye. “I broke your heart?” He hadn’t previously been aware his voice could sound that meek.

“That’s – not exactly.” Jaskier sighed heavily. He moved to sit on the bed so that he could face Geralt. “You hurt me, Geralt. Intentionally. On purpose. I belie – I _hoped_ that you would find me at some point when you’d gotten your head out of your ass and apologize properly. But it still fucking hurt, Geralt. That’s why you said it.”

Geralt flinched back at the accusation, but it was true. He’d been hurting and he’d wanted to make someone else hurt. So he had. That he regretted his words the moment they left his mouth didn’t matter – he’d said them. He’d intentionally hurt his friend, his _partner_ and Jaskier would be entirely within his rights to never want to see him again. Geralt opened his mouth to try to say that, to try to show Jaskier that he understood and he was sorry and Jaskier was worth everything and he’d been _wrong_ to push the bard away, and he would regret that forever.

Instead of any of that, instead of anything useful, all he could force out of his throat was a hoarse, “Jaskier–”. Jaskier looked at him expectantly, and Geralt huffed in frustration, trying to force out the words.

Jaskier sighed in disappointment and Geralt cringed. “All right, stop,” Jaskier held up a hand, healed now, but still wrapped in the half-removed bandages. The bandages he’d needed because Nilfgaard had tortured him for knowing Geralt and not telling them where to find him. Which never would have happened if Geralt hadn’t driven him off last year in the first place. If Jaskier had been at Geralt’s side, the bard would have been safe. How could he ever ask Jaskier to forgive him, knowing that? He did not deserve it.

Geralt startled when Jaskier’s hands cupped his face. “Stop thinking so hard, Geralt. You look like you’re about to give yourself an aneurysm.” He brushed Geralt’s hair back from his face. Geralt didn’t know why Jaskier was willing to be so near him now, but he melted into the touch. “I know how hard words are for you, you emotionally constipated idiot.” Jaskier leaned his forehead against Geralt’s and chuckled, “even after all these years. So I will tell you exactly what I need.” Jaskier closed his eyes and pulled back and Geralt couldn’t help a small noise of complaint escaping him. “I need to know that you didn’t mean it, Geralt. I need to know that I haven’t been a burden to you all these years, that you don’t wish–” 

His voice broke, and Geralt finally found his tongue. “I don’t, I swear, I didn’t mean it,” Geralt felt half frantic as he reached to pull Jaskier back into his space. “I knew I’d fucked up as soon as I said it, but I couldn’t – I was angry and I didn’t know how to – and you were there. And you’d always been there, Jaskier. You were – well, in a way, you were safe to–” _hurt_ , Geralt couldn’t bring himself to say. He dropped to his knees suddenly next to Jaskier’s bed and brought Jaskier’s hands to his mouth. “I didn’t think you would ever want to see me again, after I hurt you.” He whispered against Jaskier’s fingers.

Jaskier gave him a suddenly sad smile. “After 20 years, you still don’t trust that I will follow you anywhere?” He sounded tired, but that wasn’t fair. Jaskier couldn’t just say that as if that had been like any other disagreement they’d had before.

“You’ve never left before,” Geralt said. “Not like that.”

Abruptly deflating, Jaskier’s shoulders slumped forward over Geralt’s head. “No,” he admitted softly. “Not like that. You’ve also never deliberately hurt me like that.”

“I know,” Geralt was able to force out. “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. I don’t deserve forgiveness–” Jaskier cut him off by slumping fully forward and forcing Geralt’s head and shoulders to support all of his weight. Not prepared for it Geralt fell backward and they both collapsed into a heap on the floor. “What the fuck, Jaskier!?”

Jaskier burst out laughing, he propped himself up with his elbows on Geralt’s chest. “We’ve talked about your lack of self worth, Geralt. You don’t get to say stupid things like _not deserving forgiveness_. Anyway, that’s not up to you – I get to decide whether or not to forgive you. Your job is to let yourself be forgiven.”

Mousesack and Ciri suddenly came barging in and stopped abruptly at the sight of the bard and the Witcher sprawled on top of each other on the floor. “I was worried about the noise,” Ciri said with a smirk far too similar to her grandmother’s, “but I can see you’re working things out. We’ll leave you to it.” 

Mousesack chuckled, but before following Ciri back outside, he paused and turned to Geralt, even though the Witcher was still pinned under Jaskier. “I promised my Queen I would deliver Ciri to you.” He took a deep breath and continued. “Thank you for not making my last promise to her a lie.” He turned and strode out of the room before Geralt could respond.

Jaskier cleared his throat and got to his feet. “Well, at least Ciri’s doesn’t seem to be mad at me anymore.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, pulling himself upright. They stood there for long moments as an awkward silence slowly descended over them.

“You never told me you knew Ciri,” Geralt said softy. He didn’t want to risk what felt like such a fragile peace despite Jaskier’s reassurances, but he needed to understand. “You never told me about Cintra at all.”

“You never asked,” Jaskier shrugged. “And apparently all I do is “shovel shit” soooo no, I wasn’t eager to mention how close I was to the people you avoided like your life depended on it.”

Geralt winced. Oh great, this was going to be one of the things Jaskier beat him over the head with forever. And he’d thought he was sick of _I made you famous, Witcher, you owe me_ and _you called my singing fillingless pie! You owe me!_ After the sixth rendition of Jaskier calling in a favor, it stopped having the same weight. He still felt a little guilty for it, for the way Jaskier brought up the insults Geralt had paid him as easily as he shared the praise of Geralt’s hunts. He knew it was Jaskier’s way of saying things were forgiven. He just wished it hurt a little less, to be reminded of one of the biggest mistakes he’d ever made.

He noticed that Jaskier was fidgeting, biting his lip. Usually, he would be babbling on and on as soon as he was directed towards a topic. Instead, he shifted his weigh and stared at his hands, which he was twisting in front of him. Geralt poked him. “So tell me now,” he prompted.

A brief smile flickered on Jaskier’s lips. “Calanthe was my first friend. She was the first one to see _me_. And now she’s –” He scrubbed his hands over his face, and Geralt hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m the reckless one. If any of us were gonna go, I always figured it would be me. But first Pavetta and Duny, now Eist and Calanthe and everyone else and –” 

His voice dissolved into rough sobs, and Geralt pulled him into his chest. There was nothing he could say to that, but he could hold his bard and soothe his crying. He could let himself do that, if Jaskier needed it.


	4. Epilogue: Another Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has another mysterious dream

Geralt prided himself on knowing the continent extremely well. He was never lost, no matter how he arrived somewhere.

Except right now. Right now, he stood deep in a forest he had never seen before. The world had a hazy quality that made him think he might be dreaming again, though, so at least it wasn’t because his knowledge had failed him.

He moved further into the forest, seeking out the purpose of this dream – or answers, if it happened not to be a dream. Geralt liked to be prepared for all possibilities.

He entered a clearing that was crowded with heavily armed women in leather armor. The fact that they didn’t immediately attack him – and in fact, did not appear to see him at all – confirmed that this was a dream. 

But why? The dream of Jaskier’s torture had been the only dream he’d had of recent that varied from his nightmares’ dependable horror. He knew Jaskier was safe now, though. Geralt had rescued the bard and his apology had been miraculously accepted, and Jaskier was safe in the merchant family’s house. If this was a dream, Geralt was probably still standing guard over him.

So why was he here in this strange forest? 

There were murmurs and chatter around him, but no matter how hard Geralt focused, he could not make them out. The women were all circled around a large tree in the center of the clearing, so Geralt began to push his way through – and pointedly ignored the way he passed through their shoulders without hitting them at all. When he drew close to the tree, his first thought was that something was wrong with his eyes, because he could swear he saw a person inside the tree. Or...part of the tree? He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and looked again, and no, there was indeed someone embedded in the tree, somehow. 

Geralt drew forward to investigate this extremely strange sight – it was kind of dizzying, actually. His brain kept telling him there was just a tree there, but he could clearly see a person, and his eyes couldn’t seem to reconcile that. Possibly because the person did in fact seem to be within the tree, even though Geralt could now see her face. His breath left him in a rush. He recognized that face.

“Yennefer?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I'm already working on the next installment! ~~Next shall be the lead-up to Yennefer (and Dara because Ciri needs kid friends) joining the family.~~ Okay, actually, that one needed more fics to lead up to it.


End file.
